The guilty garment likewise gave several broad hints as to the voluptuous curves above and below its snugly tied strings. The visitor stared at her.
“Men with beards shouldn’t drool,” the plump woman muttered.
“I was not drooling,” the aged caller harrumphed as he hastily dabbed the telltale moisture from his whiskers. “I was, er, was—”
“—sweating from your lips?” a fourth woman asked archly.
Her companions laughed. “Good one, Donya!” someone called out.
“Drooling, lip-sweating, who gives a pilchard’s pickle?” Donya went on. “He should be busy cleaning up after himself.” She jerked her chin at the still-spreading purple stain and added: “I’m sure he’s going to be very glad to do it.” Her hand vanished into the folds of her skirt and suddenly an exquisite dagger glittered on the tabletop. “And soon.” There was a brief rustle of over-abundant cloth and the first dagger was joined by an array of three more.
The only person at the table who was not participating in the great revelation of lethal cutlery was the plump one. Indeed, her expression had gone from hostile to harried almost as fast as the other four had whisked out their blades. “Ladies, please, I don’t want any trouble from the authorities,” she said, making calming motions with her flour-flecked hands. “Perhaps we should let Tazadei take care of the mess. It’s the least she can do, after she ruined your refreshments.”
“Oh yes, please let me see to this!” Tazadei exclaimed. She set her tray down on the shop counter and rushed to fetch a rag. When she bent over to pick up the graybeard’s burlap sack, the enshrouding purpose of her too-voluminous gown was utterly defeated in the face of the truth: There was not enough fabric in all of the realm to conceal the fact that Tazadei’s dazzling derriere could enslave millions.
“My dear girl—Tazadei, is it? Call me Gyrfahl, please, and do let me get that for you.” The aged caller hurried forward to stay Tazadei’s hand. A chorus of barking laughs went up from the seated women.
“Every . . . single . . . time,” one of them said, pounding the table with a fist to emphasize each word. “She gets them to bow before her every single time, and how? By bowing before them!”
“‘Before’ with the power of ‘behind,’ Naleesa,” the lady to her left said with a sarcastic curl of her lips. “And don’t tell me you never used a bit of your natural charms to get out of tight spots. We all did. I remember the time I’d been disarmed by the evil elfin minions of Corusco, the Dark Oracle. They took my sword, my shield, my spear, my throwing knives, my—”
“Story now, shopping list later, Pej,” Naleesa said, elbowing her companion in a friendly manner.
“Anyway, there I was, down to my bare chainmail, about to be led to the oubliettes, when I pretended to twist my ankle.” She grinned. “It’s amazing how gracefully one can manage to show off a bit of bosom during an ‘accidental’ fall. And how much more one can show as your captors help you get back on your feet. You should have seen their faces! Randy little squirrel-thumpers, the lot of them.”
“Lucky you, going after a fiend with elfin minions,” Donya grumped. “Everyone knows it’s all they can do to keep their pixie dust in their pants. It’s a different story when you’ve got to fight ogres, believe me! The only cleavage that affects those oafs is when your blade splits their skulls.” She sighed. “Good times.”
Pej dismissed Donya’s cavil with a wave of her dagger. “The point is, I used Tazadei’s tactics to my advantage, and I was out of the Dark Oracle’s dungeon before dinnertime, carrying his severed head back to King Lungwort.”
“Not much of an oracle if he didn’t see that coming,” Gyrfahl remarked from the floor where he was helping Tazadei clean purple stains out of the planks. “If you were commissioned to dispatch a seer who failed to foretell his own beheading, I’m surprised old Lungwort paid you for your labors on that loophole alone. He always was a tightfist.”
“What do you know of King Lungwort, granddad?” Pej demanded.
“Aside from the fact that he was worth a thousand of his miserable, murk-minded daughter, Queen Kadua,” Naleesa added.
There was a general murmur of agreement from everyone, save only for Tazadei, who was still busy scrubbing, and the plump woman, who looked ready to squirm her way under the table, down through the bakeshop’s foundation, and six